


Chronic Sickness

by terribleshipsandsadshit



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Eating Disorders, M/M, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm, also steve is a lil less...uhhh...good? idk his morals are a lil more grey, based off of issues i deal with, i wanted to fuck peter up idk, ooc peter tbh, peter just has like a super unhealthy self-destructive brain lol, pure self-indulgent garbage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 21:33:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17711966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terribleshipsandsadshit/pseuds/terribleshipsandsadshit
Summary: Peter Parker has been sick since he was 7 years old. It doesn't get better.





	1. Germany

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, this is my first fanfic. Basically just self-indulgent Peter-whump and hurt. Hope ya'll don't hate it. Constructive criticism is welcome. TW for self-harm in this chapter. Also, ok, look, I wrote this in Google Docs so the italics didn't get transferred over? There were supposed to be italics but I didn't want to go back and do the weird code thing to put them in so sowwy but no italics for u guys. Next chapter I'll do it right.

Peter’s been like this since he was a kid. He doesn’t know why, really. It starts small – he’s 7 and he skins his knee during recess, and for some reason he can’t stop running his fingers over the band-aid and pressing on the small red blotch in the center – and it only gets worse.  
Bruises are treasured. Peter loves them; he thinks they’re pretty, even. It gives him something to dig his thumb into throughout the day whenever his head feels too loud and too full and too much. He knocks a knee absentmindedly into hard surfaces when he’s standing near them, or trips on purpose (he gets good at making it look real), and he learns that if he hits the sharp, bony edge of his shoulder a nice bruise will blossom there and stay for about a week. Aunt May bandages his knees and elbows for him (gosh, pete, you’re a real klutz, huh?) and doesn’t think much of it.  
For a while, this is enough. Skinned palms and bruised knees and biting his nails down a little too far dulls the hollow ache inside of him, the need for some sort of something. It’s enough. Until – until. Until he gets bit, and until Uncle Ben dies, and he and May are barely making it and he’s barely holding it together and he just has to keep it together for her because she can barely fucking function and he has to be strong. It’s enough, and then suddenly he needs more. 

Peter is standing in the shaving aisle of Walgreens, nervously fingering the $5 bill tucked into his pocket. He reaches a hand up, fingers resting on a package that reads Stainless Steel Single-Edge Razor Blades and he slides it off of the shelf slowly, hesitantly. His palms are sweating as he walks up to the register, eyes cast down and fingers gripping the box tightly. He sets it down like it might explode.  
“Just this?” The cashier is a young guy, mid-20s at most. He looks bored.  
“Uh, yeah.” Peter fiddles with his sweatshirt strings awkwardly, face turning red as the cashier scans the package.  
He knows, a sly little voice inside him whispers, and he thinks you’re fucking gross.  
No, he doesn’t, Peter snaps defensively, he doesn’t, how could he? I could be buying these for shaving.  
He suspects, then, it sneers back.  
“$4.25.” the cashier says, fingers drumming on the counter.  
Peter pulls his crumpled $5 bill out of his pocket and hands it to him with an uncomfortable half-smile that probably looked more like a grimace. The cashier gives him his 75 cents and Peter stuffs the small box and the change into his sweatshirt pocket before hurrying towards the door.  
“Hey, man.” the cashier calls after him.  
Peter freezes, heart thumping wildly in his chest. He half-turns back towards the cashier, who is examining him, brow furrowed.  
“Have a good night, alright?” His tone is strangely earnest.  
“O-ok. Thanks…” Peter trails off uncomfortably. The cashier nods at him, and he leaves with a sinking feeling.  
Told you.

So, yeah, Peter cuts himself now. What about it, huh? The bite gave him enhanced healing. Everything goes away in a couple hours or days, so it doesn’t really matter. He barely even scars. It doesn’t matter, he thinks. I’m fine. It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just something I do. It just is, ok? He doesn’t know why there’s this thing inside of him that craves bruises and blood and hurt – all he knows is that he can’t get himself out of bed in the morning without the promise of a nice, deep cut while he’s in the shower and the possibility of getting the shit kicked out of him when he patrols. (He doesn’t let the bad guys get away, but he likes to let them lay a few good hits on him before he webs them up and calls it in.) He’s reckless; idiotic. He leaps from skyscraper rooftop to skyscraper rooftop just to see if he can make it, he jumps from ledges and flings up a web at the very last second, he throws himself into 7 and 8 man fights and tries to stop bank robbers carrying automatic weapons. He’s fucking stupid, really, and it’s a miracle that he doesn’t get himself killed in the 6 months before he comes home to find Tony Stark sitting in his living room eating walnut date loaf with Aunt May.  
“Quick question of the rhetorical variety – this is you, right?” Tony flashes his phone at him, and Peter sees a video of himself stopping a bus with his bare hands.  
“I – you know that’s, that’s fake, right? Like, it’s all done on a computer.” Peter says weakly, hands pushed into the pockets of his jeans so that Mr. Stark can’t see them shaking. If Peter wasn’t so completely petrified he would be thinking about how hot Mr. Stark looks standing in the middle of his room with a black eye.  
“Uh-huh. How heavy are those things? 30,000, 40,000 pounds? You got mad skills.” Tony pokes at the trap door in his roof with a yard stick, and Peter’s suit falls to the floor.  
“So you’re the crime-fighting…spider…ling? Spider-boy?” he says, smirking the same way that Peter’s seen him smirk during interviews that he’s watched obsessively, replaying the same parts over and over again to rewatch the way Mr. Stark’s mouth quirks upwards, or the way he laughs, or how he leans back in his chair like he has about 100 better places to be (which, I mean, he probably does, right? He’s Tony Stark.)  
“Spiderman.” Peter offers reluctantly.  
“Not in that onesie, you’re not.” Tony grins at him. “You ever been to Germany?” 

Peter needs to be focused. He needs to impress Mr. Stark, he has to, because this is the fucking opportunity of a lifetime and if he lets Mr. Stark down he loses his shot at becoming an Avenger, for crying out loud. So. He needs to focus. He’s standing in front of the full-length mirror in his hotel room, the night before the battle, with a roaring in his chest that feels like it shakes his whole body. There’s a blade in his hand. He presses it into his forearm. He needs these to be deep if he wants to be of any use in the fight tomorrow.  
In the end, he slices up his whole left arm, parts of his chest and stomach, and his right thigh, and there’s a nasty black and purple bruise blooming on his back from where he’d hit his shoulder blade on the sharp edge of the bathroom sink a few times. He sleeps soundly.  
The next morning all of his cuts are scabbed over and healing, and the bruise on his back is a mottled green-yellow. Happy walks in on him when he’s pulling the suit on and freezes, eyes running over Peter’s chest and arms, his mouth falling open into a shocked “o”. Peter yanks the suit over his arms and slaps the spider on his chest a little too hard, and the suit tightens around him immediately. Happy is still staring at him.  
“I-it was from patrol, alright? Big group of guys, a few days ago. Some of them had knives. It’s no big deal.” Peter pulls his mask on.  
Happy looks satisfied with this, but there’s still a vague disease in his eyes. He seems like he’s going to say something for a moment, but then thinks better of it and turns to walk out of the room.  
“Let’s go,” he grunts. “Tony will kill me if we’re late.”

Captain America lays him out with a single hit. Peter flies backwards and slams into the ground with a pained screech, before standing up and running at him with a thrilling type of anger coursing through his veins. He doesn’t know why, but he’s suddenly fucking furious and he wants to hit and be hit, he wants bones broken and teeth bloody and eyes black.  
“I’M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU!” he screams as he runs at Steve.  
Steve stumbled backwards for a second, taken aback at the bizarre sudden change in character. Just a second ago the kid was calling Tony “Mr. Stark”, and saluting Steve and calling him “Mister Captain America Sir”. What the fuck was wrong with this kid?  
Peter jumps and kicks him right in the face, sending him tumbling to the ground in shock. He kicks Steve in the side, hard, and Steve stands up and slams him into the ground by his neck, hand firm and unyielding. Peter squirms furiously, hands scratching at the back of Steve’s hand with desperation.  
“Hit me,” he hisses. “Come on, come on, fucking HIT me.”  
Steve leans over him, and calmly says, “Stay down.” He lets go of Peter’s neck.  
Peter snarls, lashing out wildly with both fists, and Steve catches both of his wrists in one hand, squeezing tightly enough that Peter can feel his bones grind together.  
“Stay down,” he says again, voice hard.  
“Make me,” Peter taunts, pushing himself back up on shaky arms.  
Steve shrugs, and kicks him in the stomach so hard that Peter skids backwards and starts retching onto the ground harshly, dry-heaves forcing themselves up his throat. He tries to stand, and falls over almost immediately. It feels like he’s got a broken rib.  
Peter stays down.


	2. Search History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's concerned. Ned knows more than he lets on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy Ch. 2! I added page breaks this time, and I think I did the italics right. More tension + some confrontation with Ned...and Peter's a little too into Tony. General creepiness ahead. TW for self-harm, obviously.

The drive back is…well, Peter doesn’t want to say it’s uncomfortable, but it’s tense. Tony looks a little freaked out. He’d found Peter coughing and dry-heaving on the ground, arms wrapped tightly around his stomach, desperately sucking in breaths, and as soon as he saw Tony Peter started frantically trying to push himself up before doubling over in pain again. Tony was terrified. He was the one who dragged this kid out of the (relative) safety of Queens, gave him a suit, and pointed him toward one of America’s strongest superheroes. What the fuck had he been thinking? Peter was so tiny and sweet and not at all someone who should be fighting anyone, let alone Captain America. Tony had left him with the doctor on the jet and sat quietly in one of the small bedrooms, stewing in fear and nausea because if Peter gets hurt, it’s on him.  
So, yeah, the drive back to Peter’s apartment is tense. Peter’s feeling fine, all things considered. He revels quietly in the bruise on his stomach and wonders how long it’ll last (hopefully at least a couple days, he thinks to himself) and he glances at Mr. Stark out of the corner of his eye occasionally. The red and green and blue of the lights outside slide over the strong lines of his face, his hard jaw and perfect nose and the softness of his lips. Peter loses himself in fantasy for a moment – Mr. Stark reaches over, setting a hand softly on his thigh. “You did good, kid,” he says, and then, voice full of intent, “do you want to keep being a good boy for me, Peter?” Peter pictures himself turning red and squirming slightly in his seat as Mr. Stark slides a hand around the back of his neck and draws him in for a rough, aggressive kiss that’s more teeth than tongue, pictures himself moaning into it and reaching for the zipper on Mr. Stark’s slacks. Mr. Stark lets him pull the zipper down, lets him choke himself on hi – “-id. Kid. Hey, kiddo. Underoos.” Mr. Stark is waving his hand in front of his face.  
“Ground control to Major Tom,” Mr. Stark says impatiently. Peter turns bright red, embarrassed by his spacing out.  
“Uh, sorry. Just got distracted.” It sounds weak, even to Peter.  
“Uh huh. We’re here.” The car is parked outside of Peter’s apartment building in Queens.  
“Happy, can you give us a moment? Why don’t you grab Peter’s case out of the trunk.” It’s not a question. Peter blinks, shocked.  
“I-I can keep the suit?” Tony rolls his eyes.  
“Yeah, that’s what we were just talking about. Do me a favor though – Happy’s kinda your point-guy on this, don’t stress him out. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ve seen his cardiogram. Alright?” Mr. Stark is staring at him expectantly.  
“Yes!”  
“Don’t do anything I would do. And definitely don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. There’s a – there’s a little grey area in there, and that’s where you operate,” Mr. Stark says with a vague little waving motion, fingers pinched together to show just how small the grey area is.  
“Wait, so, so does that mean I’m an Aveng-”  
“No no no.” Mr. Stark cuts him off. Happy knocks on the window, holding up the case.  
“7th floor,” Tony says, and Peter immediately tells Happy that he can take it.  
“Thank you,” Happy responds, shooting Tony an annoyed look.  
“So when’s our next, our next, uh, ‘retreat’,” Peter asks, eyes wide and earnest. What he really wants to ask is _when will I see you again_ or, if he’s really being honest, _will you come up to my room and fuck me through the mattress until I’m crying_.  
“We’ll call you.” Tony says this with finality.  
“O-ok.” Tony reaches across him for the door handle, and Peter can’t help but inhale as he does, breathing in the rich scent of Mr. Stark’s cologne mixed with sweat. And, fuck, his neck is _right_ there. Mr. Stark pushes the door open and looks at him expectantly. Peter gets out of the car and waves awkwardly as it drives away before picking up his bags and heading inside.

-owowowowowowowowo-

Tony is pretty sure that Peter doesn’t understand the magnitude of his suit’s monitoring. He checks in and watches some footage from Peter’s patrols, and there’s no way that Peter knows he’s always being recorded in the suit because some of the shit he does is so goddamn stupid it nearly gives Tony a heart attack. Tony watches him jump off of skyscrapers and throw up a web when he’s 15 feet from the ground, he watches him get stabbed and shot and hit, he watches him do backflips on bridge rails and slip off a couple times. And as if that’s not bad enough – the daily health logs are even worse. He scrolls through entire LISTS of injuries, day after day after day: right arm laceration, bruise on left shoulder blade, broken finger, left thigh laceration, etc. Either Peter is insanely clumsy, or…or there’s something else going on. The injuries are methodical; purposeful, calculated, repeated in the same places over and over again. Most of them seem to happen out of the suit. Peter will put it on and have a whole list of new injuries, and by the time he takes it off he’s got even more. They’re almost always all healed within a day and a half. Tony stares at the logs with a sick, sinking feeling in his stomach. 

-owowowowowowowowo-

Ned Leeds has been friends with Peter Parker since 1st grade. And, yeah, Peter’s a little weird. He doesn’t wear short sleeves, and he’s constantly wearing long pants no matter the weather or activity; he wears sweats and a long sleeve in PE and tells anyone who asks him about it that he just gets cold easily. Ned would never tell Peter this, but…Peter’s a little creepy, if he’s being honest. Maybe not at school, but Ned once opened his laptop (he’s a little nosy, ok?) when Peter was in the shower, and Peter had at least 20 tabs open, and it was all Tony Stark. Pictures, interviews, even the nudes that an untrustworthy ex-girlfriend had leaked. Peter’s search history is mostly Tony, and…gore? He finds Peter’s (presumably secret) Tumblr account, and it’s all blood and bruises and cuts and surgery pictures. It makes him feel a little sick. He closes the laptop and puts it back where it was, and tries not to act like he’s just uncovered what might be his best friend’s biggest secret when Peter comes out of the bathroom in sweats and a hoodie. Ned’s not one to judge, though. So what if Peter’s into some weird stuff? It’s whatever. They’re best friends.  
So Ned doesn’t say anything. They keep eating lunch together and building Lego models and rewatching Star Wars and Peter still spends the night at Ned’s every other weekend. Nothing changes. Ned finds out that Peter is Spiderman, and that doesn’t really change things either (well, maybe Ned’s a little jealous that Peter got to meet the Avengers).  
What really changes things is an accident. Peter is spending the night at Ned’s, and Ned walks in on him while he’s pulling his shirt off and Peter’s chest is just…torn up. He’s got 3 deep, scabbed-over cuts running across his chest which Ned maybe would’ve been able to write off as an accident if it wasn’t for the others. Peter has cuts criss-crossing up his whole left arm, wrist to shoulder, and Ned can’t stop staring at him. Peter’s yanking his shirt back on frantically, his eyes wide and panicked, and he says, “Ned, it’s really not what it looks like.”  
Ned can’t believe that Peter really thinks he’s this dumb. “Do you think I’m that dumb? Peter, why would you…why would you do this to yourself?”  
Peter shakes his head furiously. “It was from patrol, I swear.”  
“Yeah? I don’t believe you, Peter.” Ned’s voice is firm. Peter turns around and starts fiddling with Ned’s DVD player.  
“What do you want to watch?”  
Ned really can’t fucking believe this. “Absolutely not. If you think I’m going to let this go that easily, you’re crazy. I want you to tell me why you did this to yourself.”  
Peter’s hands are trembling slightly. “I have enhanced healing. They’ll be gone in the morning anyways. It doesn’t matter.”  
“Of course it matters, Peter! If you’re this upset, we need to talk about it! You’re clearly not okay! Look at yourself! Jesus Christ, Peter, I had no idea…” Ned trails off, not sure where to go from here.  
Peter turns to look at him with a sort of manic gleam in his eyes. He looks crazy, Ned thinks. When did Peter get like this? How long has it been?  
“If you tell anyone about this, we’re through. I mean it. I’ll never talk to you again.”  
Ned is floored. He knows he should tell someone, should tell Aunt May what Peter’s doing…but Peter is his only friend, really. And he knows Peter needs him, knows that having to ignore Ned would be torture for him. So he sits down on the bed, and Peter sits next to him, and they watch Star Wars. Ned reaches over hesitantly, and laces his fingers through Peter’s. Peter lets him. 

-owowowowowowowowo-

Peter knows Ned is just trying to help. Ned comes over more often, laughs louder at his jokes, sits closer to him during lunch. Ned’s trying to make him feel better. He doesn’t know how to tell him that it’s not really about if he’s sad or happy or anything like that. It just is. He just is. He’s been thinking about Germany, lately. He wonders if Steve Rogers thinks he’s crazy. He probably does. 

-owowowowowowowowo-

Peter’s phone rings about a month after Germany, after Tony Stark gave him a new suit that feels so _good_ wrapped around him because _Tony_ made it. He answers it.  
“Hello?”  
“Kid. We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope ya'll enjoyed! Might post a new chapter later tonight or tomorrow. Comments and kudos fuel me. I also take requests, always, so if you've got one leave a comment and I'll (probably) write it! Especially if it's gross.


	3. Nosebleed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned tries to reach out. Peter spends the weekend at the Compound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 3 lol. Also I feel like Peter is very confusing but listen just know that he's lowkey crazy and that's why he deadass seems like different people at times. He's a lil uhhh not ok.

“A-about what?” God, talking to Mr. Stark makes him so nervous.   
“Why don’t you spend the weekend at the Compound, Pete? We’ll talk then.”   
Peter can hardly believe his luck. Tony wants him to _come over_. He wants him to _spend the night_. Tony Stark wants to spend the weekend with Peter Parker.   
“Yes! I mean, yeah, yes, sure.”   
“Happy will pick you up after school on Friday. And, uh, Peter?”   
Peter’s heart is pounding. “What?”  
“Just…be careful on patrol, kid. Little bit of caution never hurt anyone.”   
“I – okay, I mean, I’ll try.” Tony hangs up with a, “See you on Friday, Pete.” And Peter has never been more excited in his life. 

-owowowowowowowowo-

Peter’s standing in front of his bathroom mirror that night, scrutinizing his features with mild frustration. He smirks, slow and coy, and says, “Hi, Mr. Stark.” It sounds fake. He tries again, this time making his eyes a little wider and his smile a little more innocent, his voice a little softer. It still sounds so forced. Peter groans, frustrated. This really, really isn’t working. He wants to be sexy, but it just looks so wrong on his face. He needs to plant the idea in Mr. Stark’s head that’s he’s sexual, that he’s something to be _tempted_ by. Peter wanders back to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. 

-owowowowowowowowo-

“You’re what?”  
“I’m spending the weekend at the Compound.” Peter grins at Ned. The cafeteria is loud, but they still speak in hushed tones, just to be safe.   
“Are the other Avengers going to be there?” Ned asks, eyes wide and excited.   
“I don’t know. I think it’ll just be me and Mr. Stark.”   
“That’s crazy. I can’t believe you’re spending the weekend with Tony Stark.”   
“I’ll tell you all about it,” Peter promises. 

-owowowowowowowowo-

Ned comes over that night, and they’re halfway through an episode of South Park when Ned quietly says, “You know you can tell me anything, Peter.”  
Peter doesn’t look at him, but he says, “Yeah, I know.”  
It’s been a few weeks since Ned walked in on him – since they fought – and they haven’t talked about it since.   
Ned tries again. “Peter, can we talk about it?”   
“No.”  
“Look, I don’t…I’m not going to like, judge you, or whatever? I just want to know if I can help and I want to know that you’re okay. Can you just…talk to me?” Ned all but pleads with him, reaching for his hand. Peter pulls back, crossing his arms defensively.  
“I don’t want to talk about it, Ned,” Peter snaps. “It’s none of your business.”  
“Actually, Peter, it is my business, because you’re my best friend and you go out and risk your life and get hurt on purpose and hurt yourself and I can’t watch you do this to yourself without saying anything, Peter!” Ned snaps back, frustrated. Peter runs a hand through his hair with a sigh.  
“Look, it’s not…it’s just…it just is, okay? I like it.”  
Ned stares at him. He can’t possibly fathom what Peter even means by that.  
“You like it.”  
“Yeah.”  
“Like…like you need it? Like you’re dependent on it? Because I did some research, and I know it can be really hard to quit but you can do it, Peter, I’ll help you.”  
Peter shakes his head.  
“No, it’s not, uh, it’s not like that. I just like it. It feels good. I like how it looks.”  
“I…Peter, I think you need help. Like, professional help.” Ned is at a loss. He had expected tears, had expected Peter to say that he started because he was stressed or upset and now he couldn’t stop. He hadn’t expected this eerily calm, unsettling answer.   
“Shut up, Ned. This is my favorite episode.”   
Ned stares at the screen. He wonders if he’s a bad person for not telling May that her nephew might be sort of crazy. 

-owowowowowowowowo-

Happy picks him up on Friday after school, grumpy as ever and just as impatient as he always is. He and Peter don’t really talk on the drive to the Tower. When he gets there, JARVIS tells him to leave his bag there and directs him downstairs to the lab, where Tony is waiting for him.   
“Hey, Spiderling. Grab me a wrench from over there, would you?” Tony gestures to a cluttered table across the room.   
“Sure.” Peter walks over and grabs a wrench, handing it to Tony and watching him tighten the last bolt on the shoulder of an Iron Man suit before he sets it down and stretches, yawning.   
“I’m all done down here, kiddo,” Mr. Stark says as he stands up. “Why don’t we order takeout and watch some movies?”   
He didn’t even invite me here to work in the lab, Peter thinks gleefully. Mr. Stark just wants to…hang out. Which is more than fine with Peter. 

-owowowowowowowowo-

Mr. Stark orders Chinese. They’re sitting side by side on the couch watching Fight Club and eating noodles and rice when Mr. Stark’s nose starts dripping blood. He quickly grabs a napkin and presses it to his nose with a groan.  
“Sorry, happens when it starts to get colder out. Seasonal thing, I guess.”   
Peter nods, but he can’t stop staring at the smear of blood on Mr. Stark’s cheek. Fuck, it’s so hot. Peter can’t help but indulge himself for a moment – Mr. Stark with his hand around his throat, throwing him to the floor like he weighs nothing. He yanks him back up by his shirt collar and hits him, hard. Peter can hear his nose crack, and blood starts gushing down his mouth and chin. Mr. Stark leans down and licks his face, chin to nose, tongue lapping at the blood. “That’s what happens when you don’t listen to Daddy, Peter,” he says, voice syrupy and sweet. He manhandles Peter onto his stomach, yanks his jeans down, reaches forward and swipes two fingers through the bloody mess that is Peter’s face and then presses them into – “I’m gonna go get cleaned up. I’ll be right back.”   
Mr. Stark gets up and walks off to the bathroom. Peter stares at the pile of bloody tissues on the table, looks behind him to make sure that Mr. Stark is still gone, and slides one into his pocket. 

-owowowowowowowowo-

They’re about ¾ of the way through their fourth movie when Tony says, “So, Pete. We need to talk. About your suit.”  
Peter’s mouth goes dry instantly. Is Tony taking the suit? Has he been doing a bad job? Has Tony decided that he’s really not good enough to be Spiderman after all?  
“W-what about it?”   
Tony sighs. “Look, I – I put everything in your suit. It monitors you…very thoroughly.”  
Peter is nervous and kind of turned on at the same time, if he’s being honest. The idea of Mr. Stark _watching_ him was enough to make him half-hard in his sweats.   
“It also keeps track of all the injuries you have. And, Pete…kiddo, we gotta talk about the health logs I’m seeing.”  
Peter’s hands are shaking. This really can’t be happening right now. He decides to play dumb, act like he has no idea what Mr. Stark is talking about.  
“What’s wrong with my health logs?”  
“Peter. I’m not going to be mad at you. But you need to tell me what’s going on, because I highly doubt that you’re getting all of these injuries from patrols.”   
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
Tony was getting frustrated. “Are you really going to make me do this? You’re really going to make me pull up all of your health logs? Really?”  
Peter was silent.  
Tony pulled out his phone, clicked a couple times, and held it up for Peter to see.   
“This was you, last week.” It was a 3-D full body map of Peter. It was covered in little red lines and purple-yellow splotches.   
“Peter, there’s no fucking way that you got those from patrol. So I need you to tell me the truth, right now. Because looking at this…I’m really, really worried about you, kid.”  
“God! Why is this such a big deal to everyone? I heal in, like, a day! Who cares what I do! It all goes away anyways!” Peter snapped furiously.   
“So you are hurting yourself?” Tony feels a little sick.  
“Who cares if I am? It doesn’t matter.” Peter yanks up his sleeve and thrusts his arm at Tony, showing him his clear, unmarked forearm. “See?”  
“It – Peter, of course it matters. You’re so…Peter, you’re so _good_. I don’t want to see you do this to yourself, kid.”  
Peter’s breath hitches. “You think I’m good?”   
_You’re so good, Peter._  
“You’re such a sweet kid, Peter, and, and watching you do this to yourself hurts me.”  
Peter nods, scooting closer to Mr. Stark on the couch.   
_You’re such a sweet kid Peter._  
He takes Mr. Stark’s hand and raises it to his mouth. Mr. Stark stares at him, brow furrowed.  
“Peter, what-”  
Peter licks the pad of Tony’s thumb before wrapping his lips around it and sucking, his eyes wide and innocent. Tony yanks his hand back, looking horrified and…a little flushed. Peter suddenly feels strangely confident.  
“Don’t you wanna see how good I am, Mr, Stark?” Peter says, voice soft and sweet like he’s telling Tony a secret. He slowly pulls his t-shirt off and runs a hand up over his pale chest, fingers slow and teasing.   
“You can touch me. I won’t tell, I swear. Don’t you wanna touch me, sir? Please, Mr. Stark? I want it so bad…” Peter slides a hand into his sweats with a little moan, and Tony stands up suddenly, face red.   
“Peter, I don’t know where you’re getting the idea that I – that I want to be with you like that, but I don’t. You’re 16. I think we should both go to bed. JARVIS will direct you to your room.”   
“But-”  
 _You’re so good, Peter._  
Tony leaves and Peter is left sitting on the couch, disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyways hoped you liked it, don't worry they're totally gonna fuck but can u imagine how shitty of a dude Tony would have to be to fuck him at this point? We're building up to it I promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys at least sort of enjoyed the 1st chapter. Idk how long this bitch is gonna be but I'll try to not be hella flakey with updating. Ya'll know how it is lol.


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